


The (Fogwell) Deadpool Gym

by Luposphere



Series: A Little Corner of Hell's Kitchen [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: A Little Corner of Hell's Kitchen AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempt at Humor, Matt and Wade are the only significant characters, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, but I plan to write more about the others, schizophrenic Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luposphere/pseuds/Luposphere
Summary: Matt Murdock has always seen the Fogwell Gym as home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @alianovaromanova for creating this gorgeous AU, and for beta-ing!!

Fogwell’s Gym was on the lower western side of NY: a little old neighborhood called Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn’t much, about 1,010 square feet, the center taken up by a small wrestling ring. But it was home. Matt Murdock had spent a good five years of his life doing homework on the gym floors, whispering words aloud as he studied braille. He could still remember the muddied gray walls, in big red letters ‘Fogwell’s Gym’. He never met Fogwell, but he knew his father had at one point.

Battlin’ Jack Murdock was never a big name, but in the alleyways of Hell’s Kitchen, he was a hero. Creel was the biggest name in wrestling, so when Battlin’ Jack got paired against him and won… Matt had been nine when it happened.

A scream, a gunshot. They never found his killer, but Matt always knew it was Creel’s manager. Jack was supposed to lose, always supposed to lose against the bigger names then rise back through the smaller. More money that way.

That was his second time in the hospital. He never set foot in one again.

Fogwell’s was linked to the case, and the gym’s traffic slowed. Occasionally he'd slip away from the home, away from Stick’s cruel fists, and he'd punch, punch, punch until his hands hurt. 

That was probably the hardest thing about law school— he couldn't go to his dad’s old gym. But then he moved back. He and Foggy would walk to Landman and Zach, he met Elektra, Fog met Marci, and for a split second, everything was okay.

But then it wasn’t. Elektra turned out to be a bitch, getting caught up in drugs, and making her problems Matt’s problems. Although, Marci was always horrible, and it had honestly been a blessing when she and Foggy broke up. Then they met Jen, which made some things better.

Fogwell’s had been shut down, and part of Matt thought it was for the best. He had taken Elektra there once or twice, it held some bad memories, but it was still where his father had called home.

It was for sale, but Matt barely had enough to buy his own apartment. It sat vacant for months, Matt visiting the boarded up building once every week to see if maybe it had been a dream. Maybe Fogwell’s wasn't closed. Maybe he could go in just to punch out his anger once more. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself from thinking of buying it himself. Once their firm finally launched off the ground, that is. 

Finally, Nelson, Murdock, and Walters opened. A girl down the street, he was pretty sure her name was Kim or Kate, opened a comic book store, a couple across the way owned a coffee shop. He was pretty sure there was a craft store too, but he hadn’t met the owners yet. And for a while, he and Jen were content with cheap coffee that was a billion times better than Foggy’s.

Then it happened. He went once more to Fogwell’s gym, only to find the for sale sign gone. The door was unlocked, the once shoddily golden-colored sign above the door replaced with the name ‘Deadpool Gym’.

There was a braille sign on the door as well. It was slick, smooth, never touched before. He felt his head spin as the people walked past, mumbling nothings, whistling pop tunes… It was disorienting, to say the least. 

He grasped for the familiar handle, pushing it open. His cane was the first thing to enter the building. It smelled faintly of soap, covered up by the familiar stench of blood and sweat. The voices lowered to a mere hum, the air held with heavy breaths. He felt like a kid again, only he could tell it wasn’t the same. Even with his cane, he stumbled over weights and walked into one of the hanging punching bags (thankfully, no one was using it).

Eventually, a warm hand lightly grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, what’s a klutz like you doing in a place like this?” The voice was rough, scratchy, reminding him vaguely of crunching gravel.

Matt turned to the man’s general direction, offering him a weak laugh. “I, uh, my dad used to fight here.”

“Ooh, cool!” The man’s voice shifted, still as gravelly as before, but was almost lifted with a strange, almost childlike, wonder. “Who was he?”

“Battlin’ Jack Murdock.” 

“The guy that was killed? I saw some grainy footage on YouTube. Your old man was awesome.” The man paused briefly. “You’re trying to tell me you weren't impressed? Guy took down hashtag-question-mark-star-exclamation-point-at-symbol-dollar-sign-apostrophe, Creel.”

“What?” Matt asked, confused. There were other people around, but no one had spoken.

“I censored myself.” The man stated proudly, before stage whispering, “There are children in here,”

“Three months apart, Wade.” A girl called from across the room. 

“Don’t mind her. That’s just America,” The man, Wade, responded. “Want the grand tour?”

“Sure,” Matt felt a smile tug at his lips as he was excitedly dragged across the gym. It still felt like home.


End file.
